Grande double shot on ice
by covetsubjugation
Summary: There is an universal law that one asshole will come in when it is nearly closing time and then place a complicated order, designed to make baristas want to kill themselves. Bruce Banner is that barista. Tony Stark is that asshole.
1. Grande double shot on ice

Perhaps it is the weather that day, or maybe he had just got out of the wrong side of the bed, but if one more girl comes in and asks if he can make a pumpkin spice latte, he is going to lose his shit.

Bruce Banner is so not getting paid enough for this.

Working at Starbucks should qualify him for the United Nations. He had been smiling at insipid customers for several hours now, none of which had thought of actually considering what they wanted before they stepped in front of the counter, and he hadn't launched himself over the counter to claw off their faces yet so he would say he was pretty good at his job.

Because fuck whatever that weird chick said about Starbucks being a good source of the psychology of the American people. Starbucks was a good source of the stupidity of human nature.

Take for example the 40 year old woman standing in front of him, hmming and hawing over the limited selection of coffee hanging above his head, currently holding up the line as more and more people build up behind her. Why on earth couldn't she have considered deciding on her drink while she was waiting in line? Why couldn't she have gone to a different Starbucks? Why couldn't she have not lived at all? WHY COULDN'T SHE HAVE DECIDED WHILE SHE WAS WAITING IN LINE?

God help her if she asks a stupid question.

"So, like, how much is the dark mocha frappe?"

Rush hour is finally over. The crowds are gone, night was near and Starbucks is now filled instead with the weird lonely hipsters, dressed in their oversized sweaters, ragged beanies and scuffed converses, typing loudly away at their typewriters.

Don't these people have actual jobs?

Ross had long fled, leaving nothing more than a sneer, leaving him to clear up and lock up the store all alone.

He had just tucked the various creams and milks back into the fridges when, lo and behold, just as the malevolent gods would have dictated it, the doors to the store open.

And knowing just his luck, two rich snobs are standing at the door, both looking around the store with the air of someone finding dog shit on their shoes.

"Why me?" Bruce murmurs under his breath.

Expensive shoes taps their way up to the counter, eyes scanning over the boards above his head. The taller one, with a long woolen coat draped over his frame and expensive green scarf hanging loosely around his neck, raises a cigarette to his lips.

"You can't," Bruce begins, "smoke in here."

Green eyes, the exact shade matching his scarf, turns to him. The man gestures at the near silent store around them and shrugs.

"You still can't," he replies to the silent message. "Pretty sure it's against the law anyway."

The other man, shorter than the other, shakes his head in amusement. "Just do as he says, Loki."

Loki shrugs again, this time turning pointedly away and looking at the empty streets outside the store.

The shorter man rolls his eyes almost apologetically at Bruce. His eyes are very brown.

"He's not really a talking sort of person," he says in a way of explanation. "Can I get a grande double shot on ice, breve no classic, one pump sugar free hazelnut, one pump sugar free vanilla?"

The almost moment had been ruined.

"Sure," Bruce says almost automatically, mouth stretching to form a grotesque imitation of a smile.

"And I'll have a caramel frappe," says Loki.

Bruce promptly decides he likes Loki more.

He turns away to make their drinks, hands flying over the counter, all the while cursing his luck, internally screaming at the universal law of that one asshole coming in when it is nearly closing time and then placing a complicated order, designed to make baristas want to kill themselves.

"So you got a shitty dad too, huh?" comes the voice from behind him.

He didn't drop the ice but it's a pretty near thing.

"Sorry?" he asks, keeping his voice even.

He could see out of the corner of his eye, the shorter guy pointing at his wrist.

"Unless you're into kinky bondage, which I don't think you are, those are the marks of a shitty dad."

Bruce promptly pulls down his sleeves to cover up the bruises. "It's really none of your business," he says coldly.

It might be his imagination but he's pretty sure he just heard Loki murmur "Good job".

Bruce turns back around, grabbing the whipped cream, only to see the shorter guy, this time with a definitely apologetic grin on his face, raise his hands as if surrendering.

"I just put my foot in it, didn't I?" he asks.

"Yup," is his answer.

Another grimace. "I'm sorry," the guy said. "No brain to mouth filter, shouldn't have said anything, sorry that I brought it up and all that."

The apology is flippant but he gets the feeling that the other guy genuinely means it. The anger deflates and he offers a shrug of his own. "Whatever."

The drinks are done and he grabs them both, setting them on the counter. "That would be $15," he drones.

Loki starts digging into his pocket but the other guy stands still, staring at him with that half grin on his face.

"Let me make it up to you," he says. "We'll grab a drink or something."

Bruce pauses. He is definitely interested, but he says nothing, staring at the other guy until he too fumbles in his pocket for cash. The money is placed in his hand and he goes to take it but the guy then makes an aborted movement to grab his head.

"What do you say?"

Bruce thinks on it. The guy definitely interests him, and he doesn't exactly have anything to lose, going on his first date in nearly a year. But for slightly petty reasons, he feels like teasing the guy.

"I'll think about it," he says instead.

The other guy grins, and this grin is slightly happier than the rest. "I'll convince you."

Loki clicks his tongue from the door and the other guy rolls his eyes again, an almost perfect symmetrical end to their conversation.

"See you around," he promises.

"Tony!" Loki says and he grins. The guy practically bounds out of the door and it closes with a final jingle of the bell, leaving Bruce yet again in a near silent store, filled with various typing hipsters.

Tony. It's a nice name for a guy with very brown eyes.


	2. Double chocolate chip frappuccino

Tony shows up the next day, this time alone and in the afternoon. Unfortunately, he is stuck behind another line of idiots. Bruce offers a tired glance at him, peering over the shoulders of the burly customer standing in front of him.

"I asked for iced, not hot, you shit."

Bruce refrains from rolling his eyes. "Sir," he says with a calmness he does not feel. "There may have been a mistake, I apologise."

He stops himself from shouting, "You did not ask for ice, you complete waste of oxygen", among other, decidedly less pleasant things.

The man's face turns red, sucking in his cheeks, clearly gearing himself up for what promised to be a truly boring lecture. "You little-"

"Hey!" comes Tony's voice, and Bruce now refrains from banging his head against the counter.

"Tony," he begins to protest but the man turns around anyway and it is very obvious who his next victim is. He regrets the birth of the customer, and temporarily, his own.

"Why don't you stay out of other people's business, you faggot?"

There is an audible gasp from the other guests. Bruce contemplates punching himself in the face.

Tony smiles but his eyes are a touch too cold. "You might want to reconsider how you address me, sir."

The man sneers. "Or what?"

All of Tony's teeth are bared a bit too menacingly. Bruce is abruptly reminded of a shark. "Or you'll find yourself talking to a Stark."

Oh. Shit. Oh motherfucking shit. Stark? As in Tony Stark? Has he been talking to Tony Stark? Has he been _flirting_ with Tony Stark?

He is not alone in his opinion, for the customer's face pales dramatically. He flounders, and settles for a huff, before essentially running out of the store, casting fearful looks behind him as he goes..

The rest of the customers all turn to Tony, and if Bruce wasn't still in shock, he would have found their unison and bulging eyes almost comedic.

Tony waves and he smiles again, this time charmingly. "Nothing to see here, folks. Back to your coffee."

Not surprisingly, they all do as he says.

Bruce serves the rest of the customers in a daze, replaying the scene in his head. When Tony steps up to the counter, everyone is already silently hunched over their tables, munching away. Apart from a few shifty looks, most of them staring at Tony, no one is looking at them. Bruce reaches over the counter and yanks at Tony's hand, dragging the other man to the side of the counter, provoking a small yelp. He leans in close.

"You're a Stark."

Tony shrugs, and gives himself a once over.

"I don't have a name tag on, but I'm pretty sure I'm a Stark. Or at least, I was the last time I checked."

"You're a Stark," Bruce repeats in shock.

"I think we have established my name, yes. Tony Stark, how do you do? And you are?"

"Oh shit."

"Interesting name."

Bruce shakes his head, the want to punch himself in the face is stronger than ever. He jabs a finger at Tony instead.

"You're a Stark," he begins. "You're a Stark, and you chatted me up last night."

"You were rather attractive last night. And you are still rather attractive right now."

He shakes his head again and raises his hands in surrender. "Nope," he decides abruptly. "This," and he waves a hand between them. "This isn't going to work out."

Tony's face falls and he frowns. "What? Why? You barely even know me yet."

"For most people, that would actually be a valid reason," Bruce points out. "You're a Stark. You come from a rich family of lawyers. I'm a barista at Starbucks, if you haven't worked that out. We are two very different people."

Tony pulls a face. "We both got shitty dads, that's a similarity."

Bruce glances down at Tony's wrists, but they are covered by the sleeves of his suit and his watch. "I have literally never heard of people hitting it off over shit fathers."

"We could be the first," Tony suggests.

Bruce shoots him a look. "That is seriously fucked. And that is exactly one thing in common. We are still very different."

The frown returns to Tony's face. "People don't even consider economical differences to be a big deal anymore. How would you know anyway? We have had exactly two conversations to date."

"That's where you're wrong," Bruce retorts, ignoring the second question. "Besides, I don't date rich guys. Especially the heir to Stark & Co."

The frown fades away, and a smirk takes its place. Bruce clenches his fists under the table.

Don't fall for it. Don't fall for it. Don't _fall_ for it.

"Make an exception," Tony suggests. Bruce shakes his head adamantly.

"Nope."

Tony smiles.

"Please, for me?"

Bruce finds himself wavering.

 _Don't do it, you piece of shit, or I swear to God-_

"Excuse me?" comes a different voice and Bruce turns to see a middle aged man, with the largest bald spot he had ever seen, waiting impatiently in front of the counter.

Bruce shoots Tony a look and he strides back to the cashier. With another less than sincere apology, he takes the order and goes through the motions of preparing it. The door jingles and Bruce spares a glance to the side.

Tony is gone.

"Here you go," he says and puts the drink in front of Bald Spot. He turns back to the counter and there Tony stands, still with a smirk on his face.

"I don't date rich guys," he murmurs stubbornly.

Tony's smirk grows.

"One double chocolate chip frappuccino with a pump of toffee nut syrup and a pump of cinnamon dolce syrup," he announces. "And no whipped cream."

Bruce's mouth drops open. How dare he, the rich, entitled asshole. Muttering under his breath, naming creative places as to where Tony could shove his frappuccino, he grabs the smallest cup they have. He starts to scribble Tony's name but stops, and on second thought, scribbles "Asshat" instead.

He adds a crudely drawn penis after a bit more thought.

He makes Tony's drink, adding an extra generous dose of whipped cream, before handing it to the man with a bright smile.

The dirty look that Tony gives him is totally worth the effort.

"Come again soon!"

Tony shakes his head, and with his eyes fixed on Bruce's in a very clear challenge, he takes a long sip.

"I will," he says and Bruce is once again reminded of a shark. If everyone is his family was like him, it's no wonder that Stark & Co. is such a successful law firm.

There's a smile directed at him and Bruce finds himself smiling back equally warmly.

"I'll convince you," Tony says again and he waves before he turns on his heel and leaves.

He finds himself pleased at the thought of Tony coming back.


End file.
